


sure as a (pop) star

by beautyoftheshadows (orphan_account)



Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Alternate Universe - Boy Band, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-18
Updated: 2017-10-29
Packaged: 2018-12-17 02:04:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11841690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/beautyoftheshadows
Summary: Jack Kelly is the lead singer for the superstar boy band known as The Newsboys. Davey Jacobs is the manager of the college theater where they'll be performing. A story of bad blood, good music, and what might just be true love.





	1. Chapter 1

**_The Newsboys are Coming to Holliman_ **

_Katherine Plumber_

_Get excited, Cougars! The superstars known as the Newsboys are coming to Holliman next week, September 8-14._

_The wildly-popular six-man pop band has officially named Holliman College as the location of this year’s News For You festival. The annual, week-long concert series is designed as a fundraiser to provide scholarships for disadvantaged teenagers across the US, and has previously been held at New York University, Vassar College, and the University of California Los Angeles. Holliman is proud to be part of a tradition that serves to make higher education accessible to all._

_The Newsboys, consisting of Jack Kelly, Charlie Larkin, Spot Conlon, Racetrack Higgins, Specs Davison, and Romeo Bautista, are, by any measure, superstars. Their most recent album,_ The World Will Know _, debuted at #1 on the Billboard charts, remaining there for six weeks. It has yet to leave the charts…_

Davey stared at the newspaper lying on the kitchen counter, feeling as if the bubble of happiness that had been swelling up inside of him had suddenly been punctured. The text swam in his vision, as if his brain was simply refusing to process the information before it. He rubbed his eyes, as if to clear the article from existence, but when he opened them, it was still there.

 ** _The Newsboys are Coming to Holliman_** the headline declared, taunting him with its large bold letters, its absolute conviction of the reality of its statement. And below that, the byline…. Well, that was only slightly less insulting.

He grabbed the newspaper from the counter and walked down the short hallway in a few long strides. He rapped on Katherine’s door in his usual quick rhythm, and upon hearing her assent, opened the door.

“Hey, babe,” she said. Katherine Plumber Pulitzer was sprawled across her bed, her long, ginger hair pulled up into a bun. Her feet, still in her ridiculously old-fashioned stockings and pumps, were swinging in the air, and she was writing something in a notebook, her hand moving a mile a minute, covering the page with her large, loopy scrawl.

“I read your article,” Davey said.

“I write a lot of articles,” she said, her smile as casual and as fake as a used car salesman’s. “Which one would that be?”

“ _Kath_ ,” Davey tossed the newspaper across the room at her.

She caught it with ease. “Oh, yeah,” she said, not even bothering to glance it, “this one.”

“How long have you known?” Davey asked, folding his arms across his chest.

Something about his tone must have caught her attention, because she set her pen down and leveled her gaze across the room at him. “David Jacobs,” she said, “you know full well that any information that is disclosed to me for the purposes of a story is information I’m not allowed to share. Not even with you.”

She sighed heavily. “They told me at the end of last semester, so I’ve known all summer.”

“You kept this from me for _months_?” He said. He could hear how petulant it sounded, and he knew she was right, information relating to articles she was working on was all strictly confidential, but still. It would have been nice to have some warning, to not just come home one day and feel like he’d been punched in the gut.

“Why do you care, anyway?” She asked, picking her pen back up. “You don’t even _like_ the Newsboys. In fact, I’ve heard you say that they’re an ‘affront to the very concept of modern music.’”

Davey could think of nothing to say in the face of such an honest comment. He closed her door and retreated back down the hallway. 

* * *

 

After dinner, Davey and Katherine and their two flatmates, Blink and Mush, sat in their small communal living room and worked on homework. This was customary for the four of them, a way of making sure they all got at least some of their work started before one in the morning. Tonight, even Blink, who usually spent this time flirting with Mush, seemed to be working, cursing and scowling one-eyed at the computer and furiously typing out code. Mush was poring over whatever classic his English professor has assigned this week, Davey was taking notes on the history of unions in the US, and Katherine was, as always, writing. It was a peaceful tableau of productivity, until Mush looked up from his book.

“So,” he said, “Newsboys, huh?”

Katherine, never one to miss a chance to talk about her work, put her pen down immediately. “They’re gonna be here, at Holliman, for a week! And I’ve been working closely with their manager, handling news and such, and she’s promised me that I’m going to get to _meet_ them!” She gushed, with a smile that split her face.

Davey kept his eyes firmly fixed on his history textbook.

“They’re giving multiple concerts, right?” Mush said. “I’ve got to make it to at _least_ one of them, yeah?”

“Oh, yeah, they’re giving like four concerts all together and then doing solo ones as well.” Katherine said. “The _College Chronicle_ is going to be releasing a full schedule in tomorrow’s edition.”

“Hey, Mush,” Blink asked, looking up from his code to join the conversation. “If you had to make out with one member of the Newsboys, who would it be?”

Mush tilted his head, considering. “Racetrack, probably.”

“Dude, same,” Blink leaned across the arm of the couch to give his boyfriend a high-five. “He’s just got that look like he’s a good kisser, you know?”

“You mean like you do?” Mush asked with a wink.

“What about you, Davey?” Katherine said, clearing her throat loudly, as the other two seemed dangerously close to having a make-out session.

“What about me?” Davey asked, still staring at his textbook. He’d read the same sentence five times over now, and his voice came out a little strangled.

“Which of the Newsboys would _you_ make out with?”

“Well, what about _you_ , Kath?” It was a painfully obvious deflection, but Davey would have said anything to get them off this particular topic.

“Charlie,” She said promptly. “He’s got a smile that turns a lady’s head. Or would if I weren’t, you know, a lesbian. Your turn.”

“I got my LSAT results back today,” Davey blurted out, suddenly remembering what had been on his mind before Katherine’s article had shown up and ruined everything.

“Really?” Kath asked, sitting up straighter, Newsboys totally forgotten. “How were they?”

Davey drew the envelope from the pocket of his jeans and passed it to her. She pulled the thin piece of paper from within, brow furrowed in concentration as she scanned the page, until-

“Oh my god!” She squealed, jumping up to give him a hug. “Congratulations!”

“Let me see!” Blink grabbed the paper from her hand and he and Mush crowded together to look at it.

“Davey, you’re going to law school!” Mush crowed. Next to him, Blink swore profusely before declaring that this was a great time to get out the celebratory tequila. Despite Kath’s protestations that they all had classes in the morning, the rest of the evening passed in a haze of alcohol and friendship.

* * *

 

Davey stumbled into his room later that night. His buzz was wearing off and he could feel a headache looming in the distance, but he couldn’t stop grinning. He _was_ going to law school, after all. As he at on his bed, clumsily unlacing his shoe, he noticed, in the corner of his eye, a box. _The_ box. His grin slipped, and he thought back to the earlier conversation.

If he hadn’t been tipsy, he wouldn’t have stood up from his bed and lifted the box down from the shelf. If he hadn’t been tipsy, he wouldn’t have opened the box up and dumped the contents onto his bedspread. As it was, however, he was tipsy, and the photographs he kept stored out of sight and mind came tumbling out.

_Jack and Davey in matching Catholic school uniforms, the first day of third grade. A poolside picture of them in bathing suits, Jack with one arm around Davey and the other around Charlie. Jack at Davey’s bar mitzvah, the two of them wearing matching grins. Jack and Davey in suits, posing for their prom photo, the corsage around Jack’s wrist perfectly matching Davey’s boutonniere. A candid backstage before a show, Davey straightening Jack’s bowtie._

Davey quickly swiped away the tears that had gathered in his eyes and swept the photographs back into the box, knowing that it was useless. Like it or not, he was going to have to see his ex-boyfriend again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Points of clarification: Holliman College is entirely fictitious. Charlie == Crutchie. If Specs and Romeo have canonical last names, I couldn't find them, so I made some up.
> 
> Next chapter will be from Jack's POV and will hopefully not take too long to get up. I'm @roguestorm on tumblr, come say hi and scream about gay nineteenth century newsboys with me.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has come to my attention that there is a Christian rock group called Newsboys. In addition to not being affiliated with Disney, Fierstein, Menken, or Feldman, I am also not associated with or intending infringement on the work of the real-life band Newsboys.

“So, Jack, Charlie, what can you tell us about the upcoming _News For You_ festival?” Wiesel spoke in the oily, overly familiar tones common to talk show hosts. His bleached-white smile loomed ominously, contorting what was, in Jack’s opinion, an uncommonly punchable face.

Fortunately for Jack, who was lost in visions of socking Wiesel good, Charlie had the presence of mind to answer the question. “ _News For You_ is, of course, our annual fundraising festival. We give a series of concerts at a different college each year, and then all the proceeds go directly to scholarships for under privileged kids.”

_Lousy publicity stunt,_ Jack thought, fighting not to actively glower at the camera. It was ridiculous, of course, because The Newsboys gave away most of the proceeds from all of their concerts to the scholarship fund, not just the few they did at the festival each year. The whole concept was just a way to make them look good, and Jack hated it. It felt dishonest.  

Charlie continued, leaning towards the camera as if sharing some wonderful secret, “We’re excited because this year we’re trying something new- solo concerts, where each member of the band performs alone to a more intimate audience. Maybe,” he smiled, nudging Jack affectionately between the ribs, “I can finally get out of this one’s shadow.”

“Nah, you’re too short for that.” Jack replied, a grin spreading automatically. There was a reason Medda always put the two of them on interviews together. Even under the hot lights of television, even on this uncomfortable, lumpy sofa, talking to the Weasel himself, Charlie could make Jack smile.

“So, Jack, what are _you_ most excited about for this festival?” Wiesel asked, as if Jack’s grin were a chink in his armor and he was a beast going in for the kill.

Jack shrugged. “Well, September’s always the greatest time, you know, cause we get letters from all the kids we’ve helped send to school. They say ‘Hey, I’m doing great, studying politics or art or whatever, thanks.’ Knowing that I helped do that- me, Jack Kelly, me and my voice helped them get an education? That’s the weirdest and best thing about it.”

“That’s certainly a noble aim,” Weasel said. The trademark oily smile was back as he turned to wave to a non-existent audience. “That’s all for right now, folks. We’ll be right back, with the inside scoop on Taylor Swift’s new album- after this commercial break.”

As the cameras quit rolling, Wiesel sauntered away to the side of the stage, presumably to berate some poor assistant for doing their job. Charlie retrieved his crutch from beside the couch and started walking to the wing where Medda Larkin stood waiting. Halfway there, he turned back, realizing that Jack was still glaring into empty space. Charlie cleared his throat pointedly, and nodded his head in Medda’s direction. Jack heaved a sigh but slouched after Charlie toward their manager and adopted mother.

Medda Larkin was a plump, brown-skinned woman with impeccably styled hair and a wardrobe that could have been described as anything from _fashionable_ to _flamboyant_ to _garish_. A retired singer herself, she was also shrewd businesswoman with a talent for adopting strays.

“Charlie!” She engulfed him in a hug as soon as he was close enough. “You did excellently, working in the info about the solo concerts. Wiesel is always happy to be given anything that might count as an exclusive, even if it is just scraps. Like a dog with a bone, that man.” She let go of Charlie and eyed Jack significantly. “Still, he is the host of one of the most popular daytime talk shows in the country. We need him on our side, even if he is a nasty- oh goodness, here he comes.”

“That was some fabulous TV, Kelly,” Wiesel said, oozing towards them, pretending not to notice Jack’s impressively dark glower. “Almost touching, if you weren’t talking about entitled little brats taking your money. They want handouts and for what? To waste it on an art degree, of all things. They won’t make any money from _that_ , probably raise the next generation as worthless as they are, a whole bunch of drunks and thugs-”

Wiesel was cut off as Jack grabbed him by the collar. “You good-for-nothing weaselly little piece of-” Jack began, voice shaking with rage.

“Jack Kelly!” Medda grabbed him by the shoulders, pulling him away from the cowering talk show host. “My apologies, Mr. Wiesel,” she said with a nod, “and thank you for your time. We’ll be going now.” With that, she swept out of the room, practically pushing Jack along in front of her, Charlie making his way behind them.

* * *

 

“-almost exploded at the Weasel yesterday,” Charlie said.

“Weasel’s a donkey’s backside.” That was Race’s voice, and from the sound of it, he had something between his teeth.

“No arguments here,” Spot said, “but you know that ain’t why he’s mad.”

Sprawled across the back seat of the tour bus, his trademark Newsboys cap covering his face, Jack stayed perfectly still. It wasn’t the type of conversation he’d wanted to wake up to, but it was as good a chance as any to see what the boys were saying behind his back. Heaven knows they weren’t saying it to his face.

“He still mad at Medda about Holliman?” That was Specs.

“Nah, he ain’t mad at Medda. More mad at himself, I think.” Charlie said.

“He’s got every reason to be." Spot said.

“Now, that ain’t fair.” Charlie said, ever loyal.

“He did bungle it pretty hard,” Race said.

“I don’t know why he’s all worked up,” Romeo broke in. “Plenty of fish in the sea, as it were. Tons of students at Holliman who aren’t Davey-”

Jack yawned as loudly as he possibly could and sat up in the seat. He stretched elaborately, swinging his arms over his head as he made a show of being awake. “What’d I miss?”

“We composed two new songs without ya, and cause you was asleep we put Spot on lead vocals.” Race said. He was, in fact, chomping on an unlit cigar. Of all Race’s bad habits- his gambling, his terrible taste in men, his tendency to say inappropriate things in interviews- that was the one Jack least understood. What was the point of having a nasty thing like that in your mouth if you weren’t even going to smoke it?

“Sorry, Kelly, but I guess you’re disposable,” Spot said, giving a theatrical shrug.

“Awwww shuddup, or I’ll dispose of your head.” Jack said. It was a clearly empty threat, as they were separated by almost the entire length of the bus and Jack was making no motion to get up. “Where are we, anyway?”

Race said “Kentucky,” at almost exactly the same moment that Romeo said “Virginia.” Jack tuned out the familiar sounds of the ensuing bickering and stared out the window. The road beside him flickered by, the trees rushing in and out of his life at breakneck speed as he thought about what he’d heard.

He hadn’t slept well since Medda made the announcement, and he’d been on edge the whole summer. Learning that the biggest event of his year would be taking place at the college his ex-boyfriend attended had shaken loose memories and feelings he hadn’t realized he was still holding onto. His dreams these days were full of bright eyes and small smiles, little details he’d thought long since consigned to the trash bin of his memory. Jack wasn’t even sure why the thought of Davey was haunting him so; he’d had plenty of relationships in the past three years. Some of them had even been serious. Surely he should be over his high school sweetheart by now even if said high school sweetheart had also been one of his closest friends since childhood, until a nasty fight had put an end to their romance and friendship in one fell swoop.

Jack scowled out the window as the land raced past, drawing them inexorably nearer to Holliman College. 

* * *

They arrived at Holliman College at about six-thirty in the morning. They were staying at a hotel some miles away from the college, and they had opted that morning for an ordinary minivan rather than their far more conspicuous tour bus. As they poured out of the van into the cool morning air, crisp with the promise of the coming autumn, they were greeted with the sight of a sleepy college campus. Standing in the loading dock behind an auditorium, they could see a couple of early joggers making their way between the colonial redbrick buildings. There was no one there to greet them.

Medda checked her watch. “Security should be here in about five minutes. In the meantime, I believe we should be safe enough for our meeting. Behave yourselves and remember that under no circumstances are you to let anyone take your photo. Professor Benton and Ms. Plumber are waiting inside.” This was Medda’s modus operandi. Rubbing elbows with leaders and elites was nice enough, but it was far more practical to meet with the ground level people first and hobnob later.

It was a strategy Jack generally approved of, not least because it made college presidents and wealthy businessmen upset to feel like they were second class for once. At the moment, however, he was running on too little sleep and too many emotions, and he didn’t particularly feel like small talk with anyone, especially not fresh-faced young reporters or theater professors. As the other boys obediently followed Medda around to the front of the building, Jack quietly slipped in through a backdoor.

He felt himself relax, at home in the comfortable atmosphere of the behind-the-scenes maze common to theatres and performing areas everywhere. He made his way quietly, following the signs, until he found himself standing center stage. The lights were on, but low, and he could see the shape of the room. It was larger than he’d expected from such a small school, but he’d definitely performed to sold-out crowds in much bigger venues.

Facing the empty audience, he hummed a few bars, testing the acoustics of the room. Without even thinking about it, he closed his eyes and sang the opening verse of the Newsboys’ hit single _Santa Fe_. It was a crooning melody that spoke of longing for distant lands and second chances. His voice carried out over empty chairs in the inviting way that singing in the studio could never quite replace. He cocked his head and smiled, listening to the way his voice filled the room, when he heard the distinct sound of footsteps behind him.

Jack turned- and found himself face-to-face with a nervously shifting young man standing in the wings. A man with an attractive face and a pair of bright, intelligent eyes Jack knew all too well.

“Um… hi,” Davey said.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack and Davey have a conversation.  
> (If you could call it that.)

Davey and Katherine had arrived at the theater before six a.m., Davey clutching a very large cup of very bad coffee, Kath looking as radiant and dauntless as ever. They’d split off from each other almost immediately. Katherine was going to prep with Denton for their upcoming meeting with pop music’s hottest boyband that hadn’t broken up yet, and Davey was far more interested in checking on the condition of his theater.

In many ways, it was genuinely Davey’s theater. Bryan Denton was the head of the Music and Theater department at Holliman and oversaw in some capacity almost every show that graced this stage, but he didn’t have the time or inclination to be involved in them in depth. Davey, on the other hand, had been stage manager for five different shows in the past year. He knew every creaky floorboard, every flaky lightbulb, every inch from the greenroom door to the edge of the stage. It was his kingdom, and as stressful and exhausting as ruling it might be sometimes, he wasn’t looking forward to ceding creative control to the Newsboys and their staff.

The Newsboys, here, in his theater. Davey fumed over the idea as he packed away the last of the props from last night’s show, trying to clear the backstage area to make room for whatever demands the pop stars would have. Pretty soon, they’d be here, in his space, overrunning his carefully maintained theater, with their retinue of lighting and sound techs and videographers and personal assistants to hand them wheatgrass and coffee smoothies or whoever else the rich and famous felt entitled to bring into his domain. Davey sighed and dragged a hand down his face, pausing his work as he became aware of his train of thought. It wasn’t exactly fair of him to blame the Newsboys for being here, and he knew his bitterness had nothing to do with how many retainers they might bring with them. It would be disingenuous for him to pretend this was about anything other than Jack.

He shoved that thought out of his head and picked up the last of the boxes, placing it precariously on the top shelf of the storage closet before heading upstairs to do one last check of the stage itself. As he approached the edge of the stage, he heard footsteps ahead of him, and then a horribly familiar voice that stopped him in his tracks.

 _Santa Fe, my old friend…_ There was no denying that Jack Kelly could sing, or that he could write songs to make audiences weep. Even here, even now, singing acapella in the early morning, he was phenomenal. The emotion he poured into a song he must have sung a thousand times before caught Davey right in the chest, making him feel like he couldn’t breathe. The logical thing to do would be to slip away while he still had the chance, but Davey, entranced, found himself creeping forward until he was at the very edge of the stage, until he was only a few feet away from the man who had so unceremoniously broken his heart three years before.

Jack looked good. He’d grown a few inches, and all the dance practice had given him well-defined muscles in his arms and across his back. He was dressed in jeans and a tank top, and his curls poked out from under that same old gimmick of a cap. The physicality of him, this man who had for three years existed only as a memory in Davey’s head or a face on a television screen, brought the reality of the situation crashing down on Davey. He backed up hurriedly, but in his haste to get away, he made more noise than he had before. Jack turned, and they locked eyes.

“Um… hi,” Davey said.

“Davey,” Jack breathed, looking as stunned as if he’d been hit by a piano suddenly dropping out of the sky.

“Hi,” Davey said again. His brain felt like it was short-circuiting, trying and failing to make the connection it so desperately needed to. Jack was here, they hadn’t spoken in three years, and all Davey could say was hi. Repeatedly.

“I was trying out the theater,” Jack said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. At least, he started to jerk a thumb over his should, but he got self-conscious halfway through the motion and let his hand drop again.

“I heard.” Davey said. They stood in silence for a moment, just staring. From here, Davey could make out the stubble on Jack’s chin, like he hadn’t had time to shave this morning, and the way his eyes still glowed as if he was dreaming of better things.

“What’re you doing here?” Jack asked finally.

“ _I_ go to school here,” Davey said, suddenly defensive. This was his school, his theater, his Jack-free space where he’d come after leaving his past behind. He didn’t have to explain his right to be here to anyone.

“And _I’m_ performing in a very prestigious event that will get _your school_ on national TV,” Jack said.

“Oh, it’s _prestigious_ , is it?” Davey said, deliberately mocking the way Jack said the word. “I didn’t know you knew such fancy language, Mr. Kelly.”

Jack’s eyes flashed, and he opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off by the door at the far end of the theater opening. He turned to see who it was, putting up a hand to block out the lights, and Davey took the chance to escape, hurrying across the area backstage to the stairs that descended into the prop room.

Behind him, Davey heard a voice ask, “Who were you talking to?”

And then he heard Jack reply, “Nobody.”

* * *

 

Showing the Newsboys’ tech and security teams around the theater had been a harrowing all-day task, requiring Davey to pass on substantial amounts of information, repeat everything he said at least three times, and talk to people who weren’t used to guys his age having any brains at all. It was exhausting and demeaning, but at least it kept his mind off replaying the scene that had just happened.

It wasn’t until that night, when he was sitting quietly on the couch with Mush and Blink, drumming a pen against an empty notebook page that was supposed to contain the outline for his midterm paper, that Davey got a chance to really think about what had happened.

Their first encounter in three years, and they’d managed within the space of half a dozen lines to start fighting. Jack questioned Davey’s right to be there, Davey had taken the undignified and just plain cruel route of insulting Jack’s accent and vocabulary, and it had left Davey with no desire to see Jack ever again. In fact, the next time he saw him would probably be worse, because Jack would be justified in starting with open hostility.

In hindsight, Davey could see how stupidly defensive he’d been. He tried to tell himself it didn’t matter, that he would either see Jack again, in which case he could apologize, or he wouldn’t, in which case it wouldn’t matter, but he knew he was lying to himself. What Jack thought of him did matter, had always mattered. He sighed and put the notebook down.

“You guys hungry?” Davey asked.

“Kath texted, said she’s bringing home Chinese.” Mush said, looking up from his book and squinting at Davey suspiciously. “Are you feeling okay?”

“Yeah,” Davey said. “Just cause I don’t check _one_ text from Kath-“

“I think he was probably asking because you’ve been staring off into space and not working for the past hour.” Blink cut in. “We do notice these things.”

“Oh,” Davey deflated, a little bit upset at the idea that his distress was so obvious. He still hadn’t told his friends that his ex-boyfriend was the Newsboys’ lead singer, and he’d frankly prefer it if they never found out. “Yeah, I just had a long day at the theater, you know.”

“Nope,” Blink said, gaze fixed on a computer screen, “Never worked a day in my life.”

When Katherine opened the apartment door a minute later, the three of them were in the middle of a good-natured ribbing session, poking fun at each other in the way only true friends can. They broke off as she came in, bringing with her the tempting smell of cheap Chinese food.

“Hi, guys,” she said, looking incredibly proud of herself. “I hope it’s okay that I brought company.”

Behind her, following in the hesitant manner common to those visiting someone’s home for the first time, came none other than one-third of the Newsboys, Charlie Larkin and Jack Kelly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... first encounter's over. ;)
> 
> Sorry for going MIA, school hit pretty hard, but I definitely don't plan on abandoning this. Thank you for all the kind comments, they really mean a lot!


End file.
